Treading through technicolour
with monochrome feet
bringing dull grey-tone with each step
as if all vivid shades
were an infection
killed by unintended antibodies
purging the sickness of vision
before the choice is made
to live it or not
Eventually birthing paralysis
as the only kind reaction
to this blinding arrangement
Judged by a higher voice
a Super Ego
unwilling to let the Id eyes open
but damning of ego’s claim to dull hues
And in the distance You
scouring all in a victimless war
of colours
acidic
striking
raw
and infinite
Fought for a goal set out of our reach
set against capacity
and beyond even love
A liberation from self-inflicted darkness
made impossible by now rooted feet
a perfect mockery
that though all voices desire
none can step towards
because the granite and the charcoal path
has killed too much already
for the murder of more spectral lights
to be a price worth paying
Be sure to check out my new book No Cure for Shell Shock.